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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28897188">Miss You!</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/viedogaems/pseuds/viedogaems'>viedogaems</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hololive, Virtual Streamer Animated Characters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:06:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>909</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28897188</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/viedogaems/pseuds/viedogaems</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A short story based on the following tweet from Ina:<br/>https://twitter.com/ninomaeinanis/status/1352121492759224320</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ninomae Ina'nis/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Miss You!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was cold outside the train.<br/>
The aged carriage had little in the way of comforts but it, at the very least, served to keep the wind off of it's passengers. Once I stepped onto the mossy station platform, the steady breeze forced my hands to my armpits for a hint of warmth.<br/>
When I moved away from the countryside I left all my coats behind, knowing that the city would be much more temperate. I suppose that even if I did bring warmer clothing, there'd be no point. My clothes from back then wouldn't fit today.  </p>
<p>The trek through the small town was hauntingly familiar. Even living in the city, you could never quite get used to your surroundings. There was always something being constructed, a new parking garage going up, buildings being redone. The sights were seldom similar, so I'm shocked to see that, aside from some extra vegetation, the way from the station to my old house is exactly as it was seven years ago.<br/>
The memories of those walks come back to me. Staring through the windows of small shops along the road, imagining the texture of the trinkets and crunch of the candies. Waving at the neighbors on their front porches like I did back then, and although many of them wave back, they all seem to lack that certain familiarity in their eyes reserved for those who aren't strangers. The one thing that is the most different from back then is my solitude. She is not with me.  </p>
<p>Her name was Ninomae Ina'nis. Her friends called her Ninomae, but I called her Ina. It was rare for the two of us to spend time apart. We'd walk to school together every morning planning the rest of the day and what mischief we'd get into. We'd sit next to each other in class, passing notes underneath the desks and drawing more and more ridiculous things in the margins of our notes. And we'd wander aimlessly around town until the sun set behind the mountains and the last few slivers of light struggled to illuminate any more than her slim silhouette skipping stones into the river.  </p>
<p>Before I moved to the city, we made a promise to write each other every day. It was a hard promise to keep, or at least a hard promise to keep interesting. Writing "Today was boring, too." every day will get droll quickly, so we started writing each other once a week. Most of our correspondence was complaining. I would complain about my classes and my classmates and the noise and the pollution and the stress. She would write back about the increasing pressure from her parents to pursue the family business and how little free time she was able to find between her new responsibilities. It was still very nice to hear from her, but soon the weekly letters became monthly letters and those soon became more and more scarce. The last letter I sent to her was an impersonal holiday greeting, the same one I sent to at least a dozen other households.<br/>
I didn't receive one back.  </p>
<p>My limbs are still stiff and frigid. I'd love to be warm in my house right now, catching up with my parents, telling them all about graduation and my plans for University, but for some reason my mind has rejected the familiar warmth and instead wandered out, further from the houses. I find myself staring out over the river, the same river we used to visit every day.<br/>
It's all the same as it was back then. The grass around the banks is less green than I remember it, but everything else is lacking the color it had in my memories as well. The stones beneath my feet are the same as they always have been. The rustling of the leaves overhead sounds the same as I remember. The crisp smell of the air, too, is familiar. And so is the sound of a rock skipping along the surface of the water. I am not alone.<br/>
A lone figure stands by the edge of the river, a small, round pebble dropping from her hand when we make eye contact. The ripples in the water expand and shrink, flowing across the smooth surface until they are swallowed by the steady current.  </p>
<p>I want to say everything at once. I want to tell her about high school, about classes, about exams. I want to tell her how much I hated the city, how loud the cars were at night, the screeching of the trains, the crowded stations, the constant sounds of voices, the claustrophobia of it all, how you could have thousands of people around you and still feel alone.<br/>
I wanted to apologize. To tell her that I meant to write more, that I should have stayed in contact. I wanted to tell her that it was a mistake to ever leave my hometown. To ever leave her behind.<br/>
Her eyes squinted, and the corners of her mouth wrinkled in an uneasy expression. I could tell she just wanted to open up, to tell me seven years worth of stories in one long sentence. To tell me that she felt the same way, but she didn't say any of that. Instead, her expression changed to a smile, and in the exact same voice I heard her speak with all those years ago, she said three small words.</p>
<p>"I missed you."</p>
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